Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Important people don't talk to beatniks
hep talk floats on the coffee verse air
where do all these strange words come from
how many were lost in the babel of the centuries
only to surface later man after awhile crocodile
you ask my what is my style my style you ask me
what if I was speaking French and I can't speak French
Important people don't speak beatnik they have spoke
If I knew what those crazy words meant I would choke
I'm talking to the jazz on the far wall where the war rains
those languages that move through the undergrounds
like tigers in the streets of Picasso women with moon face
no sooner does the poet die then the revolution angels scry
no sooner is it never too soon to die he will philosophize
those wicked zeros blow smoke from the voices of poverty
I too cool to care that the stars would never sleep again
too stoned to dream of butterflies in her ancient blue eyes
the suns roll in coffee waves down saxophones of dragons
that he should whip up tongues of forgotten cool jazz talk
that rocket ships of hip tongue flip should walk that talk
other planets arrive they jack no jive neon lava them java
who should they conjure they would not know him not know
other objects of grotesque reality fall through the hole roll
what paradox did survive that low dive they bird the word
haven't you heard the no nothing manifesto presto chango
rearrange your senses oh no how far hoodoo rabbit bit go
look out here come the rolling stone like a poetic telephone
would you accuse them of senselessness they incite to recite
into that ramble rumble night mother of all alchemy my mummy
I don't lack that riverbed of all cracks my hep hop hotel of agony
my ragbag drag lip symphony give me no release from this life
the gods are gaudy idols falling in the false falsetto regrettable
they would be singing in the drunken dawn war worker songs
you can't jyp my cryptic fantastic my chaos codes on the roads
you say its all been done before but I ain't no Rimbaud talkin
whore who swore to rip the circus carpet out from under myself

beat therapy
my senses rearranged

re-arrange the rear range
for nearer than fear is the fleeing fringe
re-contain the contentless brain
in a sane way to stem this insane
mane
rephrain in plain in the main
to derange the mangey gut
i kicked the cant out of my own can't do but
nevertheless i will if you won't
and wouldn't if ye would
elijah alaska
describes yo disguises if nasta
is a rasta better than the resta
and best left outta the test. ban. entreatea.

I can't hear the jazz
But I can hear the poetry
it made me feel unplugged from "duckspeak" I hear from the ministry of truth.
image source

i talk to anyone that seems interesting to me- but i am a hippie- eyong language is that 'look' ha ha aha of adventure= peace man= nice write

I decided I was a beatnik at twelve
at seventeen I read about hippies
even as I became one, my novel
Gone Hallucinogen Freeway

I do a lot of gestures when I talk, I guess we can communicate, don´t worry! Enjoyed!